


House Call.

by RT Fice (RT_Fice)



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (Cartoon 1989)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Lust, Sexual Humor, Tricking parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RT_Fice/pseuds/RT%20Fice
Summary: 18-year-old Lydia Deetz is stuck at home with a cold, topped off with laryngitis, and nosy Delia is driving her nuts.  Beetlejuice is nowhere to seen, even though she Called him the day before.  With Lydia sick and sulking, the doorbell rings.  Is it another intrusion, or will she find relief?A long-lost Cartoonverse minific, and sequel to "School Visit."
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	House Call.

“ _Ahngx_!” Lydia gurgled, annoyed.

“Can’t understand a syllable,” chirped Delia, ecstatic. She fluttered around Lydia’s room, pretending to put away clothes and generally straighten things that had no need of it, while peeking and prying. “Don’t strain, dear, I’m sure you’ll just make your throat worse.”

From bed Lydia laid one palm flat to look like a pad of paper and with the other used her forefinger to indicate a pen writing on the pad, then pointed insistently at her notebook on her corner desk.

“You want hot soup!” said her step-mother, knowing full well that wasn’t the case at all. “Just the thing! I’ll cook you up a nice, steaming bowl of my special chicken soup!”

“ _ack ack ack!_ ” Lydia squeaked, desperately shaking her head.

“Now, you stay in bed. It’s such a tragedy this backward village doesn’t have a nice, old country doctor who does house calls. Be right baa-ack!”

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and steamed. She’d Called Beetlejuice the night before, when her throat had only begun aching. There was a rumble among the clouds and a tremor of lightning, but he didn’t appear. As the cold, or whatever it was, dug in its nasty claws she’d laid awake, waiting. When he still hadn’t made an appearance when she awoke in a sweat she was seriously irritated with him.

 _I’d wanted to awake from a sweat caused by him_ , she inwardly fumed. _I know my voice wasn’t too weak yet. So if he’s on this side, why hasn’t he shown up?_ Lydia knew she was indulging in a sulk beneath the dignity of her 18-almost-19-year-old years. But, dammit, Clare Brewster had said something particularly pernicious at the Mondo Mall the day before, and for some reason, perhaps her oncoming cold, Lydia’s immune system was too weak to not be infected by it. She needed her man.

Percy thumped his head against her, purring. She scritched him. _At least one of my guys cares,_ she pouted. _After I die from Delia’s Food Poisoning I’ll march into the Roadhouse and give him such a lecture._

_Ding dong._

“Doorbell!” Charles yelled downstairs, from where he was watching CNN Moneywatch.

“Busy!” Delia sang from the kitchen.

 _Ding dong ding dong_.

“Am I supposed to get that?” Charles asked, sincerely oblivious.

“ _No_ , Charles, that’s _Percy’s_ job,” snapped Delia.

“I don’t think he could reach the doorknob.”

“Don’t look at _me_ , I’m in the middle of An Act Of Artistic Creation! You _know_ I can’t be disturbed when I’m inspired!!”

“I can’t look at you. You’re in the other room.”

“ **Aggh!** ” Lydia threw off her blanket and marched downstairs in her knee-length black t-shirt and black ballet flats, her hair sticking out a thousand directions.

“Lydia?” said Delia, when the girl passed the kitchen door.

“Pumpkin?” said Charles, as she simultaneously passed the living room door on the opposite side of the hall. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

Without looking out the door’s small window first Lydia yanked it open, just as her parents came into the hall.

“ _Oh my god._ ” Delia dropped her wooden spoon.

“Not God, Mrs. D!” Beej’s dry, deep voice replied. “But it’s a easy mistake t’ make!”

“Mr. Beetleman.” Charles’ tone was the same he’d use if the stock market plunged a thousand points. His pale face became completely devoid of melanin. He blinked. “Is that….a lab coat?”

“And stethoscope?” swallowed Delia.

“And black doctor’s bag?” gulped Charles.

Lydia grinned from ear to ear. Then she coughed. Intentionally.

“Heard ya girl’s caught th’ throat whatzit.” Beej, in the lab coat he’d swiped from the Neitherworld, which was over his magenta shirt, black tie, striped trousers and boots, stepped in, slamming the door behind him. “An’ I got just th’ medicine for her.” He winked at Lydia, who was breathing faster.

“ _How_ on earth could you have known?” asked Delia. Charles gave her a look indicating that this, like all questions aimed at the hand dandy handy man slash caterer slash pest control slash auto mechanic, was futile.

“ _afajohvcx caledng snrx_ ,” gurgled Lydia.

“‘Xactly!” Beetlejuice pointed at her and nodded. “Felt she wuz comin’ down with it last night, gave me a Call.” It wasn’t a lie. Not that he cared. “Had t’ grab my gear this mornin’, an’ here I am. House calls. Ya know I luv ‘em.”

“You’re a doctor?” This wasn’t so much an inquiry from Charles, but a challenge disguised as one.

“Yeah, well, Julliard wuz a snooze, an’ Harvard Business School wuz fulla assholes, pardon moi Francais, so I did a few years stint in th’ Medical School instead.”

Lydia caught her parents exchanging worried looks. She suspected they recalled “Principal Scarabee’s” claim of his “brother,” “Mr. Beetleman’s,” many professional degrees, though medical school hadn’t been one he mentioned. She’d always thought he’d strained their credulity a bit too far that time.

“What’s your specialty?” Charles’ eyes narrowed.

Beetlejuice smiled benignly. “I’m an expert on corpses.”

“Well, Lydia isn’t one, and she’s not going to be one any time soon,” Charles huffed. “Unless you can offer proof that you’re qualified to–”

From the inside breast pocket of his lab coat the ghost produced a business card.

 **DR. B.J. BEETLEMAN** _Family Physician GP, GYN_

_666 Roadhouse Way “If You Get Sick, I’m There Right Quick!”_

“I’ve never heard of Roadhouse Way,” said Charles, desperate to find something wrong with all this.

“It’s a cul de sac in a cul de sac in th’ ‘burbs,” said Beetlejuice. “Can’t find it ‘less ya know where it is. People git lost in it fer _days_.”

“ _Ghn_!” Lydia pointed insistently at her throat.

“ _Aww_. Sounds bad. Let’s go take a look at that, Mizz Deetz.” The ghost took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and followed as she feigned weakness going up the stairs.

“I’m…making soup,” Delia called after them, not sure how the situation had gotten out of her hands, but not surprised that it had.

Beetlejuice yelled from the landing, “Naw, better ya hold off on that till later. She’s gonna need a full examination an’ a good, long nap first.”

“Okay,” said Charles from the bottom of the staircase, watching the man follow his daughter into her room and close her door. “We’ll just wait down here until you tell us how she’s doing, shall we?” Receiving no reply he said, “Okay. Good.” He walked back to his wing chair and sat in it, staring in confusion at the TV screen.

Beetlejuice juiced the lock. “Whut are ya doin’ outta bed, ya bad girl? You get back there right now.”

Grinning, her eyes shining, Lydia slowly slid backwards onto her mattress, her eyes glowing. She kicked off her shoes.

“Sooo…” Tearing off his lab coat, then his tie, and unbuttoning his shirt, he breathed, “Show me where it hurts.”

Lydia pointed at her lips, her hard nipples pressing against her shirt, and, after slowly pulling her t-shirt up to her waist, at her damp panties.

Percy flung himself off the bed and stalked into the closet, knowing full well where this was headed.

His eyes incandescent ith lust, Beej licked his smirking lips. “Tsk tsk. Looks like yer gonna need,” he pulled off his shirt, yanked off his belt, and crawled up on the bed, looming over her on his hands and knees, “a dose here,” he kissed her deeply, tongues groping, “an’ here,” removing her shirt over her head, he mouthed her breasts desperately, “and,” his own voice straining as he removed her panties, “hate t’ tell ya, but yer gonna need an **injection** , _here_.”

Lydia’s sore throat hurt a bit as she gasped while his mouth and tongue went to work on her clit and inside her. She grabbed his dry, yellow hair and huffed.

Sitting up on knees, heaving breaths, Beetlejuice undid his fly as he said, “Have t’ warn ya, my speculum’s a tad cold.” His fat, huge-knobbed cock sprang up toward his belly in a rigid curve. “But I think it’ll heat ya up _real fast_.”

Lydia sat up, grabbed his face, and devoured his mouth as he mounted and shoved in.

“Charles?” Delia called from the kitchen to her husband in the living room. “ _What_ is that _sound_?”

Charles could barely hear the rhythmic squeaking over the TV host’s voice excitedly announcing the stock market’s movements. “Isn’t that those cowbirds? The ones who sound like rusty springs?”

“God, I hate those birds. Turn up the TV!”

Charles did.

**THE END.**


End file.
